


Nephilim

by bookfairy_writes



Series: Just One Yesterday [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Gen, Implied Castiel/Dean Winchester, It's an overarching thing, Just one yesterday, M/M, Part Two, Sort of? - Freeform, Supernatural - Freeform, fallout boy - Freeform, four-part series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 12:36:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7640395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookfairy_writes/pseuds/bookfairy_writes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her name is Michaela and they meet at a bar. She is nothing like what she seems. Part II of Just One Yesterday</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Letting People Down is my Thing Baby

 

“Michaela,” she said, offering her hand to the smiling man with golden brown hair and wide green eyes, the scruff of a beard on his chin and a beer in one hand. She said it Mih-kay-luh, crisp and clear without a hint of shyness.

“Dean,” he replied, shaking it. “Buy you a drink?”

It was easier than she had expected.

It was astonishing, she thought to herself, that she didn’t immediately put him on edge. With all of the supernatural phenomena the Winchester brothers had encountered over the years, she would have expected some kind of spidey sense (her foster mothers allowed her to watch television between the various lessons and “The Amazing Spiderman” had been a favorite for awhile). It was fortunate that Dean hadn’t at least, it allowed her to assess the situation without worrying that she’d have a blade between her ribs. 

Three drinks in and she could see the alcohol loosening him up, relaxing the hardened on-edge air he had about him, the tendency to check for exits or available weapons. 

“You from around here?” He took a pull on the beer and she could practically see the idea that he might get laid tonight pass through his mind as his smile became at least eighty percent more charming and his attention seemed to intensify. Despite the warm atmosphere of the bar, the heat of bodies and alcohol, she shivered despite herself and watched his smile widen fractionally. 

“Just passing through,” she replied lightly. “Don’t like staying in one place for too long.”

He nodded, “I know the feeling.”

There it was, her cue.

“Oh?”

He nodded again, taking another drink from the brown bottle, and she raised an eyebrow at him, gesturing toward the pool table with her own bottle.

“Tell me about it over a game?”

That smile again, wide and bright and though she loathed to admit it, sexy. 

“You sure you can handle getting beaten this early in the evening?”

Michaela laughed, throwing her head back so her long brown curls tickled the skin of her back through her open-backed blouse. 

“That good, huh?” Dean asked, and she returned his smile, wide and confident, just a little cocky.

“I haven’t lost a game in a very long time.”

“Sorry to break your streak then.”

She cleared the barely-legal punk kids from sitting on the edge of the pool table with a glance, and pulled a cue out, chalking up the tip briefly before beginning to rack up the balls. 

“What are we playing for?” Dean asked, chalking up his own pool cue.

“How about another drink?”

“I love getting free drinks,” he replied.

When all was said and done, Michaela had won three games of pool and he’d bought her shots to match them. She knew very little else about what he and his brother were up to, but that was to be expected. When the bartender made the last call, he glanced over at her.

“You good to drive?” 

“I’m just walking to my motel room.”

_ Hook _ .

“Well do you want a ride? It’s pretty dark out.”

_ Line _ .

“I’m not scared of the dark.”

“It’s not the dark I’m worried about.”

_ Sinker _ .

“Are you good to drive?” she returned, holding eye contact a few moments longer than necessary.

“My last beer was over an hour ago.”

She pretended to think about it.

“A ride would be nice.”

The Chevy Impala smelled like old leather and gunpowder and she sank into the passenger seat, listening to the springs squeak. He turned the key and the engine rumbled, turning over as he put the car into gear.

“Nice car,” she said, reclining slightly in her seat. “What year?”

“67,” he patted the dash fondly.

“It’s an automatic?”

“And a thing of beauty.”

Chuckling, Michaela accepted the fact that despite her initial doubts about the situation, she would probably have to have sex with Dean Winchester. It wasn’t the plan she had intended on carrying out, but it sounded like a solid decision, providing that he didn’t inspect the tattoo she had on her ribs too closely. Given his interest in her breasts, she doubted that it would be a problem.

“This is it,” Michaela said, gesturing to the motel and she fished through her pockets for the plastic room key.

He said something vaguely funny and she laughed because she knew it wasn’t a joke as much as giving her an opening. Had she been romantically interested in him she might have flirted or dropped coy hints. However, she knew and he knew that this wasn’t about romance--he thought it was about sex and she was perfectly content to let him think that. She encouraged it even as she unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned over to kiss him, hot and fast with just a little tongue. 

“Is that a goodnight kiss?” he asked, voice slightly lower, and she kissed him again, slower this time.

“Consider it a personal invitation,” and she got out of the car, looking back over her shoulder to see if he was coming.

Up the stairs to her motel room and then inside, not bothering to turn the lights on as she began undoing the buttons of his shirt, running her fingers over the ridges of muscle and bone.

He met her enthusiasm happily and it wasn’t very long before they were both on the bed with him straddling her hips, hands kneading at her breasts. Lifting her hips, she ground against him, drawing a rumbling sound of pleasure from low in his belly. 

“Eager huh?”

“Less talking,” she said, pulling him down to meet her lips.

The sex was good--very good, had she been pressed to elaborate. He knew where to touch and how hard to press, when to move faster and when to slow down. He made sure she finished first before he came with a few final thrusts and grunts, rolling off of her after the final waves of orgasm washed over him. 

“Wow,” she said.

He muttered something that sounded like agreement in reply and lay there for a few minutes before getting out of bed and heading towards the bathroom. Sharp-eyed, Michaela picked up his flannel overshirt from the floor and put it on, doing up enough buttons to cover the tattoo on her ribs, wandering towards the glaring yellow light of the bathroom where the toilet flushed and she heard the sink begin to run. 

“So,” she said casually, pushing the door open.

He stood at the sink completely naked, just washing his hands. The edge of the condom was visible in the trash can but she spared it only a glance as she allowed her eyes to take in the full glory that was Dean Winchester. 

“So,” he replied, drying his hands on a towel.

“Not a stay the night sort of guy, huh?”

He shrugged. 

“How about a guy who will call if he wants to do this again tomorrow night?”

“That, I might be.”

When he left it was with a slip of paper with her cell phone number on it and without the flannel overshirt, which according to his eyes, looked much better on her.

  
  



	2. Find Yourself a New Gig

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean returns after a night out

“Good night?” Sam asked, hunched over his laptop on one of the long tables in the bunker.

His brother shot him a cocky grin in return on the way to his room.

Sam rolled his eyes and returned to his research. It did Dean good to get laid every now and again; he got irritatingly grumpy when he hadn’t had sex in a while. Through the bunker, Sam could hear the clanking and humming of the water heater starting up as Dean had a post-coital shower. At least he’d be in a good mood the next day.

Water running over him, Dean exhaled heavily, content. Michaela’s number was in the pocket of his jeans on the floor of the bathroom, he could feel the endorphins running through him, and he might get a good night’s sleep that evening. Yes, all was right with the world and--

“Hello Dean.”

“Cas!” Dean jumped, nearly slipped and fell, and grabbed onto the shower head for balance, nearly wrenching the thing off before he managed to regain footing. Sticking his head out of the shower, he scowled at the angel.

“We’ve talked about this, Cas. Personal space.”

“I’ve given you personal space,” Castiel replied. “I left you alone while you were in the bar and copulating with that woman and driving home.”

“You watched me have sex? Cas! That is not okay!”

“I didn’t watch,” Castiel replied, sounding wounded. “That would invade your privacy. I waited until you were done.”

Dean took a deep breath and rubbed his temples.

“Can you wait until I am done in the damn shower. Please.”

“I’ll be in your room then,” the angel replied, and vanished promptly. As Dean scrubbed himself clean, he muttered rude things about feathery bird-people who had no sense of personal space and furthermore how a man fucked someone was his own damn business.

When he was dried and dressed, Dean returned to his room where the angel sat waiting for him.

“What is so damn important that you had to interrupt my shower?”

The angel blinked those enormous blue eyes at him and he softened a little inside. Despite everything, Cas could get him to do a lot of things by simply looking sadly at him with those eyes; they could drain the anger out of him in a moment or drive him back to it in the same amount of time.

“I understand that I have violated your privacy,” Castiel said. “I apologize. It was not my intent to invade your space.”

“Yeah thanks, Cas. Where’s the fire?”

Looking around curiously, the angel blinked and looked back at him.

“The nearest fire is one set exactly thirty seven minutes ago by several teenagers in a dumpster approximately--”

“It’s an expression Cas. What’s so important that it couldn’t wait until I was out of the shower?”

“Oh. It has come to my attention, well, the attention of heaven but particularly mine, that a Cambion is here on earth. And it’s hunting Hunters.”

“Cambion...fill me in here, Cas.”

“A cambion is the demonic version of a nephil. Sired by a demon and birthed by a daughter of man, it has many powers including strength, speed, some telekinetic and psychic abilities, and it is very difficult to kill without an angel blade, the demon-killing knife in your possession, or some other objects yet unknown.”

“Where is this thing?”

Castiel frowned.

“It is neither human nor demon so tracking it is difficult, but based on the string of deaths that have come to my attention via my network of earthbound angels, I would guess it is south of here….several hundred miles south. The last known kill was in northern Louisiana.”

“Awesome,” Dean rubbed his eyes. “We’d better go get Sam in on this. He’ll want to research the thing to death.”

Sam went into full research mode almost immediately. He had long since stopped asking why Dean got the direct visits from Castiel and he was left second man. Cas had once said something about a profound bond and after that, Sam had written it off as ‘Dean is the angel’s favorite and that’s all there is to it’’ and only periodically wondered if the more profound bond meant that Dean got any angelic perks like on-call angelic assistance. Given that he would probably utilize it more often, the answer was probably still a ‘no’.

“Wait,” Sam looked up from his computer and saw that Dean was flipping through their dad’s journal.

“We’ve done Cambion before. That antichrist kid, remember? Jesse Turner.”

“Special case,” came Castiel’s gravelly voice from the other end of the bunker where he was staring intently at a map. “He was conceived by a virgin in parallel to the prophet Jesus’s conception. Most cambion, though they are rare, are conceived through an incubus or succubus mating with a human of the opposite gender, though a demon possessing a human and having sex with another human is also a possibility. Regardless, this cambion will not be the antichrist, just very difficult to kill.”

“Thanks for that,” Sam returned his gaze to his computer. 

“I don’t understand the human concept of marking off spaces on maps and not marking them in a physical way. How does one know where the border of one state ends and another begins?” Castiel traced the dotted lines on the map with one finger.

“Can’t you scout out the cambion’s warpath for us or something?” Dean asked, flipping through the journal. “Maybe figure out an MO or some background?”

“I am not an errand boy,” the angel said gravely. 

“No, but you’ve got wings and we don’t.”

“Asking politely would be nice,” Cas muttered before vanishing.

Dean looked across the room at his brother.

“What’s got his feathers all ruffled? It’s not like the thing is hunting angels.”

Sam didn’t bother answering, instead he got up from the computer and began opening file drawers and looking through one of the folders, shuffling papers as he went.

“I’m going to bed,” Dean said. “One of us has to be awake to drive tomorrow.”

Sam made a noise of agreement while pulling out a file folder and walked back to the computer, spreading the papers over the table to better inspect them. 

Despite the interruption in the shower and the sudden case springing up, Dean still felt pretty good and he did, in fact, sleep better than he had in several weeks.


	3. This Town Ain't Big Enough for the Two of Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team Free Will hunts a monster

“Can I get a rain check on tonight?” Dean Winchester’s voice on the other end of her phone brought a smile to her face over the cup of truly terrible motel coffee (it was complimentary for a reason.)

“Losing to someone else at pool?” she asked, and heard him chuckle in response.

“I’ve got a work thing. You going to be in town for the rest of the week?”

“Could be,” she paused, thinking. “Better come get your shirt just in case.”

“I got other shirts, Michaela.”

She dropped her voice in timbre just a little, making her intentions very clear.

“You should come and get your shirt, Dean.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment and she chewed her lip gently, trying to figure out how she was going to get access to him again. The question was answered by a gruff sigh, trying not to sound pleased despite the fact that he was looking at getting laid twice in less than twenty four hours after quite the dry spell. 

“I gotta get gas and provisions for the road anyway...be by in an hour or so?”

“I’ll be here,” she said, and hung up. Just like the first time: hook, line, and sinker.

She met him at the door in a pair of tight jeans and a loose flowing top, her feet bare, nails painted ruby red.

“Come in.”

She stepped back to allow him into the room and the moment the door closed, her hands were everywhere, stroking and squeezing and touching.

“Good to see you too,” Dean managed hoarsely before he pinned her to the door and returned her ministrations in earnest. When they had finished, both were panting and a little sweaty as they readjusted clothing. With his hand on the door handle, Dean turned back to look at her.

“Give me a call if you’re still in town next week.”

She tossed him a flannel long-sleeved overshirt, the very one he had come to collect.

“I’ll do that.”

Back in the car, Dean shook his head and grinned, turning the radio up. Twice in less than 24 hours and now a case--it was shaping up to be a good week after all.

Sam slept in the car for most of the way there, jolting into consciousness when Dean cranked up the duelling banjos solo on the radio.

“Welcome to the bayou!” he shouted over the music and Sam rubbed at his eyes, frowning.

“I thought we’d need to stop for gas.”

“We did. You slept through it.”

Shaking his head, Sam sat up, rolling his neck and shoulders a few times to get the kinks out of the muscles before reaching for the volume knob and turning it down.

“What time is it?”

“About 8.”

“I thought you said it was eight more hours the last time we stopped.”

“I cut about an hour off through some creative interpretations of road signs.”

“So I was asleep for seven hours?”

“Six, but yeah.”

“My mouth tastes like ass.”

“One of the many reasons you never get laid, Sammy.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Sam glanced at a road sign. 

“Munroe, Louisiana?”

“Cas said the last kill was south of here, and the internet said a little podunk town called Clayton. Sits on Alligator Brake swamp. How did you say the guy died again?”

“It looks like he had his neck broken and he was tossed in the swamp. The wildlife got to his legs so we don’t have anything below the waist but the ME I called last night mentioned some interesting marks on him.”

“Like?”

“She told me I’d have to see it to believe it.”

“Well, that’s promising. You hungry? I could go for some gumbo, maybe some crawfish...something cajun. Let’s chat with some locals.”

The diner they found was on a dirt road and appeared to be made of clapboard but the inside was all warm brown and red tiles, old wooden tables and chairs, and a shiny chrome counter with barstools along it. Dean took a deep breath, inhaling all the smells.

“Can I help you two?” the waitress was smiling, her uniform very 1950s.

“Two seats at the bar?” Sam asked.

“You bet.”

While Dean waxed poetic about the many virtues of the gumbo he was shovelling into his mouth and flirted with the waitress, Sam mentioned that he’d heard about some poor guy turning up dead in the swamp.

“Bodies turn up in Alligator Brake from time to time,” the waitress admitted. “There’s some real sickos and usually the gators take care of anything that gets tossed in. I’m surprised that they got most of the body back.”

“Do they not usually?”

“Once you dump a body in the swamp--deer, bird, human, whatever--it’s usually gone pretty quick. If the gators don’t get it, something else will.”

“Something else?” Sam asked, and the waitress nodded, glancing around the diner to check for eavesdroppers.

“There’s  _ things _ in the swamps, always have been. Everybody knows it, even if they don’t go around telling the tales.”

Sam got some of those tales out of her in that way he had, those big eyes and the slow nod. Something about the gentle giant vibe appealed to people and while Dean was practically in ecstasy over the pecan pie, Sam listened. He nodded in all the right places. And when he tipped, he tipped well. 

“Police in the morning,” Dean said as he face planted onto the motel mattress. “That waitress was chatty. Maybe you’ve got a chance to get laid.”

“Dean, she was old enough to be our mom.”

His brother shrugged without sitting up. 

“It’s not like you’ve got a lot of options.”

Sam threw a pillow at him.

 

_ Highway to Hell _ blared into the silent motel room, jolting Sam into wakefulness as Dean rolled over and yawned, eyeing the radio with distaste. Even classic rock didn’t make waking up better, though the thought of ganking a monster and getting back to the bunker in time to get laid before Michaela left town brightened his outlook and he sat up. Something about killing monsters made a man want to have a beer and find someone pretty to pass the time, though maybe that was just him. 

By mid-afternoon they had investigated and asked around, checked in with the sheriff’s department several times, and ended up parked in the Impala near the edge of Alligator Brake.

“We need a hunter’s network or something.” Sam ran a hand through his hair.

“What like Facebook? That sounds great, Sammy. We can ‘like’ each other’s pictures and share funny Onion articles. Maybe swap recipes?”

“I’m just saying that it would be convenient, being able to keep track of all the other hunters, especially when something’s going around and killing them.”

“I’m more interested in where the hell Cas has been.”

“So call him. Use your profound bond or whatever.”

“Don’t make it weird,” Dean retorted and glanced up at the ceiling of the Impala. “Hey Cas, what’s the word? Give us some clues about what’s going on with this whole demon hybrid thing.”

“It’s a cambion,” Sam said as Castiel appeared in the back seat.

“Sam is correct.”

“Great, Sam’s a nerd. Old news. What’s the word on the cambion?”

“They cannot be tracked by angelic means the same way that humans can.”

“So…”

“So I had to search the long way.”

“Which is…”

“Searching each town within the state for signs of it.”

“And?”

“Nothing I could find. I was going to search the swamps next.”

“How about dead hunters?” Sam asked, “Find any of those?”

“Not new ones,” the angel replied. “There was a kill I was unaware of, but it looks at least two days old.”

“Where is it?” Dean’s brows were pressed together, worried.

“Edge of town, about ten miles south of here.”

“We’ll go look at that and you check the swamps, okay?”

Castiel vanished without saying a word and Dean shrugged.

“Nice talking to you.”

The cabin smelled rank, and understandably so. The bodies weren’t ravaged by animals or anything, but the cambion had ripped off one of the hunter’s arms and the other one had a bone sticking out of his leg. On top of those injuries, both hunters had open wounds and one had a broken neck while the other appeared to have gotten stabbed several times in the chest and abdomen. Clouds of flies hovered around and in the cabin, causing the Winchester brothers to keep up a near-continuous swatting at the air to keep the blasted things at bay.

“What was that?” Sam asked suddenly, and Dean stopped his examination to listen.

“I don’t hear anything.”

“It’s kind of...like a scratching sound? Sounds like it’s coming from the attic or the roof.”

“Worth a look,” Dean agreed. As Sam gave him a lift up into the attic space, there was another sound, this one intimately familiar to both brothers. The sound of a door closing.

“Shit.”

Sam pulled his pistol from its holster and Dean let the angel blade sheathed against his forearm drop into his palm. Both men froze in place, listening. There was no creak of footsteps, no breeze of movement through the house. Glancing up, Sam and Dean exchanged a look and Sam pressed his back to the wall as Dean hovered on the edge of the attic opening, ready to attack.

“Hello?” Sam called. “Is anyone there?”

The figure that burst into the hall was fast, impossibly so, and slammed into Sam with the force of a moving truck, barely seeming to notice the six bullets that Sam fired into its chest. Blade drawn, Dean dropped from the attic blade first, sinking it into the thing’s back. 

The thing screamed and turned to face him, wielding a knife as long as his forearm. It looked...human. Except for the swirling darkened eyes, like a cloud of soot was covering them, and the faint smell of sulphur, it looked just like any guy you might see on the street. As it nearly broke Dean’s jaw, the hunter thrust the blade home again, this time between its ribs. The cambion shrieked and swiped at Dean with its knife again. With the angel blade still jammed between its ribs, it was slowing. The tip of the blade cut a line in Dean’s sleeve, leaving a trail of blood.

“Bastard,” Dean swore, and as he reached for the blade in the cambion’s ribs, it stiffened and froze before dropping to the ground. Behind it, one hand bloody and wielding the demon-killing knife, Sam leaned against the wall.

“Not what I was expecting.”

Shoving the body until it rolled over, Dean wiggled the angel blade out of its unmoving corpse.

“Good riddance.”

After calling off Cas, they built two pyres and placed the hunters’ bodies atop of them. Dean stood watch while the burned and Sam cleaned the house out of weapons and lore before torching it as well, the cambion body still lying in the hall.

When it was all just ashes, they loaded the car up and climbed in. Much to their surprise, Castiel climbed into the back seat of the Impala.

“You’re coming with us?” Sam asked.

“I wanted to ensure you were both healed,” Castiel said gravely. He rested a hand against Sam’s head and closed his eyes momentarily.

“Done. Dean, let me see your arm.”

“I’m good without the mojo, Cas.”

“Dean, just do as you’re told.”

Normally that sort of command would leave him bristling and irritated, but something about Cas’s voice warmed his belly. Shaking it off, Dean sighed overdramatically and offered the angel his arm.

“It’s just a scratch, Cas. Geez.”

Perhaps it was just his imagination, but Castiel’s fingers seemed to linger on his arm a moment longer than necessary. His blue blue eyes locked onto Dean’s green ones and he was just about to make a wisecrack to stave off his discomfort when the angel vanished without a sound.

“Weird day.” Sam said, and Dean nodded. And they drove.


	4. I Don't Have the Right Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michaela goes on a search of her own

She let herself into the bunker with the key she’d slipped off Dean’s key ring. She’d given him a solid four hours before she’d gone to the bunker, expecting that packing and picking up his brother would take some time. Upon opening the door, she noted that it was bigger than she expected, and surprisingly neat. She idly wondered if they had a cleaner and dismissed the idea as soon as it passed through her mind. Hunters didn’t hire cleaning ladies.

Michaela started with the files, flipping through them rapidly. She expected the hunters to be gone a couple of days but it was still better to be as quick as possible. Getting caught in a Men of Letters bunker by the hunters who had kick started (and then cancelled) the apocalypse was a great way to get killed, extra powers or not. Being a nephilim had perks--strength, speed, the ability to see angels,  but it also had it’s drawbacks--if her existence was discovered, she would be considered a bug to be squashed. Abominations, angels called them. The union between angel and human was frowned upon but producing a child was inexcusable. She wasn’t sure how hunters felt about nephilim, nor did she have any interest in finding out. 

The files were only moderately helpful, though some made references to other files which lead her on a grand four-hour long paper trail which ended in a map and codex pairing that made her want to scream. After another long block of hours, she gave up for the day, typewritten words swimming before her eyes. With a disgruntled sigh, she refiled everything she didn’t need and piled the rest of it into a messenger bag. Small though it was, the town would have a library or a print shop where she could run off copies of the files tomorrow. Checking the clock on her phone, she noted that it was nearly midnight and her stomach reminded her that she hadn’t eaten dinner...or lunch come to think of it. Dinner it was. Dinner and then bed.

The library photocopier worked just fine for most of the files, and for the map she drove to the nearest office supply store, twenty miles or so outside of town.  It took a lot of spare change for the library and a couple of twenties for the map, but she had immaculate copies of everything she needed. All she had to do was replace the files and maps, wait for Dean to come back, and replace his key on the ring before he noticed it was gone. All in all, it had been relatively simple and the warnings her mentors had given her about hunters echoed in her head. Apparently hunters weren’t as tough as they’d been in their day. 

On the drive back to the bunker, she let her thoughts drift. There was nothing to look at but fields of corn or wheat and it lulled her mind until it settled on a memory, the first time her heritage became evident.

_ “Michaela,” her mother was holding a wooden spoon in one hand and had her other arm curled around a bowl. _

_ Michaela hadn’t even looked up from her stuffed animals who were being moved around the living room on a secret mission. The bunny was sneaking along the couch while one of her bears climbed up one leg of the coffee table. They were going to get the bad guys this time, her zoo force never failed. _

_ “Michaela,” her mother repeated louder, and the little girl looked up, waiting for whatever question or instruction was about to ruin her fun. _

_ “Go wash your hands, please. I need you to help me with the peas.” _

_ “I don’t wanna help with the peas,” she’d replied, a hint of a whine in her voice. _

_ “Go on then.” _

_ “I don’t wanna.” The whine was more pronounced now, along with the slump of her shoulders and her lower lip beginning to push itself into a pout. _

_ “Go wash your hands or go to bed without supper.” _

_ Standing up, young Michaela stomped to the bathroom and yanked the faucet handle to start the water running, mutiny in each motion. When she yanked, however, the faucet handle came off as though it was merely placed onto the sink rather than affixed through plumbing and grout. It flew into the wall, denting it, and water spurted from the broken part, shooting up to get the ceiling wet. _

_ “Mom!” she’d shrieked. “Mom!” _

_ Her mother had turned the water off and cleaned up the mess. When her other mother got home, dinner was somewhat late and Michaela was subdued, quietly shelling peas on the front porch. It was only after dinner that her mothers sat her down and explained two things. _

_ One was that she was adopted, and two that she was different from other people. She came from a human mother and an angelic father, and that her uncle, also an angel, had left her with the two women she called ‘mom’ to raise as their own. _

_ In the years to come she had been trained in a number of things, languages and some combat, minor spellwork and the ability to explain away miraculous recoveries or feats of strengths. She learned to subdue her natural abilities and pass as merely human. _

After going back inside the bunker, replacing the files and the map where she’d found them, she took a bit of time to explore. The Men of Letters had a nice setup and she’d hate to miss any relevant information just because it wasn’t in the main reading room or the map room. Wandering the halls, she found several bedrooms, a kitchen, some general living quarters, a boiler room, several locked doors, and a room full of filing drawers. In the drawers she found some references to other materials she might find useful and jotting down notes on her photocopied files, she walked back through the labyrinth to return to the main reading room, where the books and files were. As she was sliding the drawer open to check under spells of detection, she heard low voices.

“Shit.”

Closing the drawer as quickly and quietly as she could, she tried to think of a decent hiding place. Surely the Winchesters would leave or go to bed at some point, during which she could make her escape. Back through the halls she went, discarding rooms as secure places to hide one by one. Finally, she settled on the boiler room, climbing amid the pipes to crouch behind the water heater. As an afterthought, she pulled her phone from her pocket and switched it to silent mode. 

_ And now _ , she thought, _ We wait. _

 


	5. Or the Right Looks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michaela's searching is less than fruitful, Sam and Dean's is.

The bunker door was unlocked and Dean immediately went on edge, reaching for a gun and motioning for Sam to do the same. Sam raised a silent eyebrow and Dean muttered back at him.

“It’s unlocked.”

“Maybe it’s Cas?” suggested Sam in a whisper and the angel appeared beside them.

“Maybe what is Cas?”

“That’s a no,” Dean replied gruffly. “Someone’s in the bunker.” The second remark was directed at the angel.

“I can search it.” 

“It’s warded against angels, Cas.”

“It’s warded against us appearing within it,” Castiel corrected him. “Once I step through the door, I am able to move through it as I wish.”

Trenchcoat flapping, he stepped through the doorway and froze, a serious expression on his face. After a moment he looked back at the brothers. 

“I did not see or sense anyone.”

“Are there creatures that angels can’t detect?”

“Leviathans, but the likelihood of a leviathan being in the bunker is extremely low.”

“Sam locked the door, didn’t you Sam?”

Sam nodded.

“All right then, we’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way. Sam, left, Cas, right, I’ll go straight. Holler if you come across anything.”

Like a small military unit, the three fanned out and took the bunker room by room, two wielding guns and the other an angel blade. They checked in cupboards, under beds, behind doors, up at the few exposed steel beams. Systematic and precise, until Dean reached a locked door. Pulling out his keys, he thumbed through the ring.

His bunker key was gone.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered. “Michaela.” He traced his steps back to the entrance hall of the bunker where he pulled out his cell phone and scrolled through recent calls, settling on the one belonging to the woman he’d met in the bar. It rang and rang, eventually going to voicemail.

_ “You’ve reached Michaela. Leave a name, number, and message and I’ll call back.” _

Dean cleared his throat as the phone beeped.

“Michaela, it’s Dean. I’m back in town...just wondering if you want to meet up again, maybe tonight? Call me back.”

Sam emerged from a hallway, looking less than impressed.

“Really, Dean?”

“My bunker key is missing.”

“And the girl you were with the other night...was the only person other than you who was anywhere near them…”

“Yup.”

Sam didn’t bother to conceal his smirk.

“Guess getting lucky wasn’t so lucky.”

“Shut up.”

“Dean!” bellowed Castiel’s voice from deeper within the bunker. “I’ve found someone.”

Guns still drawn, the Winchesters raced to find Castiel and wound up in the boiler room where a dark-haired woman with a messenger bag slung across her chest and the angel were circling each other, each clutching an angel blade and eyeing each other.

“Freeze.” 

With two guns locked on her, Michaela froze, eyes darting between the two men and the angel.

“Call off your angel.”

Dean visibly slumped, but kept the gun trained on her.

“Cas, back off.”

“She’s warded, like you two.”

“She has runes carved into her ribs?”

“I didn’t look that closely,” Castiel confessed, slipping the blade back up his sleeve.

“She is standing right here,” Michaela said pointedly.

“After breaking into a bunker and fishing around for who knows what?”

“Information. And I didn’t break in, technically.”

“Yeah, okay. Give me my key back.”

“I’m going to put my blade down, it’s in the front pocket of my bag.”

“Yeah, don’t think so. Sam?”

His brother lifted the messenger bag’s strap over her head and shoulders, unzipping the front pocket. A tube of lipstick and a switchblade tumbled out along with the bunker key, all of which Sam picked up. He handed Dean the key and paused before handing him the switchblade again.

“Hey!”

“Trespassers don’t have property rights,” Sam shot her a look.

“If you would stop pointing guns at me, I could explain.”

“How about we try a few things first.”

“What?”

Her response was a flash of holy water to the face.

“I’m not a demon, okay?”

She was met with a cloud of salt which she coughed through. 

“Or a ghost.”

Dean nodded at Castiel, who grabbed her arm. Immediately, she tugged it back, yanking it quite easily from his hand. 

“Give him your arm,” Dean commanded, and she offered her forearm to Castiel, scowling.

The angel drew his blade.

“Whoa whoa whoa,” she said. “I thought we weren’t going to kill me--son of a bitch!”

She yanked her arm back from Castiel again, this time with a cut bleeding, the break in her skin glowing momentarily a silvery green. Both of Castiel’s eyebrows shot way up and he stared at her intently.

“You can’t be,” he murmured.

“Yeah well,” Michaela replied, putting pressure on the cut on her forearm.

“Can’t be what?” Sam asked, and Castiel looked from Michaela to Sam to Dean.

“Nephilim.”


	6. But I've Got Twice the Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the Winchesters, the only way to ask questions is through interrogation.

“Nephilim,” Sam repeated. “I thought there weren’t any left?”

“As did I.”

“Someone want to fill me in?” Dean asked and Sam and Castiel answered at once, their answers overlapping.

“Okay....does one of you want to fill me in?”

Castiel sighed and Sam shrugged before replying.

“Nephilim are the children of angels and humans.”

“Weird,” Dean muttered.

“Rude,” Michaela returned.

“Abominations,” Castiel added.

“Great. Now that we’ve worked that out….what are you doing here?”

“I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I said research?”

“No.”

“Yeah I thought not. It’s the truth though, look in my bag.”

“No,” Castiel said gravely. “We have more pressing matters to attend to.”

“Like?” Dean asked, throwing the angel a look.

“Your parentage,” Castiel said to Michaela. 

“You’re not going to believe me.”

“Try me.”

She took a deep breath.

“I was conceived shortly after Lucifer fell.”

“But you’re--” Sam began and Castiel shushed him.

“She can explain that later. Your parentage. Now.”

“My mother was a Jew living near Jerusalem shortly after Lucifer’s fall.”

“And your father?” Castiel pressed.

She winced as she said the name.

“Michael.”

The reaction from all three men was instant.

“Michael sired no children,” snapped Castiel while Sam half-shouted,

“Michael the  _ archangel _ ?” and Dean blurted out,

“Someone _slept_ _with_ _him_?”

“Maybe we could talk about this without the gun pointed at me?”

“Sounds good to me,” Dean replied grimly, and motioned with the gun towards the door.

“This way.”

“Where are we going?”

“Dungeon.”

“Seriously?”

“You broke into our bunker. You’re lucky that we didn’t shoot you.”

“Excuse me for not thanking you. The gun pointed at me makes me a little hesitant to make any sudden movements.”

“Good.”

“Seriously, I borrow your library once and suddenly I’m a war criminal?”

“If you’re really Michael’s daughter, you have a lot of explaining to do. And if you’re not..well you’ve still got a lot of explaining to do.”

“Why would I lie?”

“Maybe your dad was some sort of angel traitor or he broke some rules or hell, maybe he was just a grunt and you like the idea of having a dad high up in the ranks.”

“I’m  _ not lying _ .”

“Funny, that’s what liars say too.”

Pushing the shelves aside, he indicated the chair.

“Sit.”

“You know that devil’s traps are useless here.”

“Got an angel trap on the ceiling.”

“I’m not an angel.”

“We’ve got shackles,” Sam offered, clapping one around her wrist.

“Oh great. Of all the hunters I could have found, I got the kinky ones.”

Sam clapped a shackle on her opposite wrist and then did her ankles as well.

“And what exactly is the point of shackling me to the chair? And the floor?”

“Well you can’t run away, can you?”

“This doesn’t seem like overkill?”

Dean smiled grimly.

“No such thing as overkill.”

“And I don’t suppose one of you could get me a glass of water?”

“Don’t think so.”

“I liked you better in bed.”

Dean didn’t flinch, though Sam snorted and Castiel looked pained and uncomfortable.

“I could say the same about you.”

Dean holstered his weapon and pulled a chair to the edge of the devil’s trap, sitting down. Castiel blinked out of existence and reappeared with a chair, which he offered to Sam. Sam sat and looked the angel up and down.

“You don’t need one?”

“Angels don’t require rest in the same way humans do.”

Sam shrugged and turned his attention to the woman shackled to the chair.

“So,” he said conversationally. 

“So,” she returned with a condescending look.

“Start at the beginning,” Castiel ordered.

“Well in the beginning there was nothing but darkness,” she intoned. “And the Lord spake unto the darkness saying, ‘Let there be light,’ and there was.”

“ _ Your _ beginning.”

“Well when an angel and a human have sex,” she began and outside she heard the unmistakable boom of thunder, pausing to glance at the angel.

“Temper, seraph?” she asked.

“You were conceived after Lucifer’s fall. Start there.”

Michaela eyed Castiel warily and began to speak.

“Michael was the one ordered to drive Lucifer from Heaven. Lucifer, whom he had raised practically himself, his younger brother. He obeyed his father’s command, but afterwards he took about a decade to wander the earth in a vessel. He met my mother at a well where she was drawing water and she offered him a drink. He declined, despite the heat, and she found that curious. Whenever she came to draw water, she spoke with him, growing more and more enchanted with him. One night, she snuck from her parents’ house and found him in the desert, where he was watching the stars. She offered herself to him and he accepted. He stayed only three days after that night, vanishing to never return.”

“Looking pretty good for what, 3,000 years?” Dean interjected.

“Only 28, sorry.”

“I assume there was some sort of intervention,” Castiel remarked.

“My uncle, yes.”

“One of my brothers helped your mother?” Castiel sounded surprised. “You are an abomination.”

“He was a somewhat less judgemental angel,” Michaela replied acidly. “Maybe you know him. His name is--”

All three men finished the sentence with her.

“Gabriel.”

“That explains a lot,” Sam muttered. “What did he do?”

“He came to see my mother. In a vessel, obviously. And once he knew she was pregnant, he took her away to this place...it’s really hard to describe. It’s a place outside of time...kind of like a celestial waiting room?”

“I know of such places,” Castiel nodded.

“Well until about 28 years ago, my mother remained in that place, mostly comatose if I understood correctly. And at some point, Uncle Gabriel came back and I was born. My mother didn’t survive birth, but she found the modern world terrifying and wouldn’t have fit in here. So Uncle Gabriel took me to a couple of women, former angelic vessels. They raised me and when I turned 18 I started hunting things here and there, mostly on contract. I came across some information from another hunter that you guys had Men of Letters access. I needed files, you had them, and the rest is history.”

“Gabriel left your mother in stasis for three thousand years?” Sam asked, incredulous.

“Sam,” Castiel reminded. “This is Gabriel we’re speaking of. It doesn’t surprise me that he forgot about something for three thousand years.”

“True.”

“Well great, now that storytime is over, can we talk about that glass of water? Maybe some shackle removal?”

“I’ve got a few more questions,” Sam interjected. “Like what were you looking for? Who did you hear that we had Men of Letters access from? How did you know where to find us?”

“So that glass of water?”

“Will wait.”

 


	7. Anything You Say Can and Will Be Held Against You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explanations happen for those who keep talking

“...and so I found the bars in the area and hung around them until I found Dean here, kicked his ass at pool, had a couple good rounds in the sack, and stole his keys.” Michaela looked at the Winchesters and the angel in turn.   
“So now that I’ve answered all of your questions….glass of water? I’m pretty parched here.”  
“Let me get this straight,” Dean began and she rolled her eyes.   
“Yes, I slept with you so I could steal the bunker key. Yes, you were decent in bed, no I wouldn’t have picked you up otherwise. Nothing personal, sweetie, but I like my partners a little less trying-too-hard.”  
Dean spluttered something back while Sam barked a laugh so loud that Michaela jumped.   
“Shut up,” he growled at his brother, which only made Sam laugh harder. “I’m going to go get the lady a drink.”  
“Oh now I’m a lady?” Michaela asked. “Not that I mind, just I thought you might prefer your ladies…” she raised her chained wrists and rattled the metal. “Less tied up?”  
“Dean’s preferences,” Castiel began with a questioning look and Dean shouted,  
“Cas!” cutting him off before he could get further into the question.  
“I was merely attempting to determine,” Castiel began again and Dean shook his head sharply.   
“Don’t. Actually, why don’t you go get her a glass of water.”  
“I fail to see why this task is now my responsibility.”  
“Personal space applied to questions about my sexual preferences as well.”  
“Oh.” The angel’s face furrowed into a puzzled expression and he vanished.  
Sam was finally catching his breath and Dean shot him a look.  
“You done yet, Sammy the Cable Guy?”  
“I would just like to point out,” Sam began and Dean grumbled faintly under his breath, and Sam stopped.  
“All right, somebody’s touchy today.”  
Dean grumbled something else and Michaela looked from one brother to the other.  
“If you want me to make smart remarks about your sexual abilities, Sam, I’d be more than happy to go a few rounds later. I’m a smidge tied up at the moment but maybe we can find something that works for both of us.”  
Sam had the decency to look mildly embarrassed while Dean shot a glare at the nephil.  
“Unless you have that weird ‘don’t sleep with anyone my brother slept with’ bias. Which is fine. You don’t have the trying-too-hard that Dean has but if half the stories I’ve heard are true, you’ve got your own special brand of fucked up.”  
“I could gag you, you know,” Dean muttered.  
“The angel should have stuck around,” she remarked. “He did seem curious about your preferences.”  
In a moment of incredible timing, Castiel appeared next to her, holding a glass of water.  
“I wasn’t sure what kind you wanted,” he said gruffly, “So I decided on an unpolluted mountain spring.”  
“How thoughtful,” Michaela remarked. “Should I call you Uncle Cas?”  
“No.”   
“My father is your brother…”  
“You are an abomination.”  
“Cas,” Sam said uncomfortably. “You don’t think you might be a bit biased?”  
The angel gave him a long, slow look.  
“I fail to see the relevance.”  
“We’ve met vampires and werewolves trying not to be monsters. They just couldn’t help what they were. Michaela...well it’s not like she had a choice, you know? You don’t choose your parents.”  
“Your input is noted.”  
“A sarcastic angel.” Michaela looked impressed rather than insulted. “I didn’t think you guys were capable. Bravo. I would clap but, well you know.” She clanked the chains on her wrists for effect.  
Instead of answering her, Castiel shoved the water glass into her hand. It took some stretching, but she was able to sip some water without spilling it onto herself. While she did this, Sam opened her bag and began pulling out the copies she had made of their files.  
“You were really doing research?”  
“I said that already. Multiple times. But points for catching on.”  
“There are files here going back years.”  
“I couldn’t find anything with the exact M.O. so I grabbed anything that looked related.”  
Sam flipped through the pages.  
“This is all vampire stuff.”  
“It’s not a vampire. I’ve tried all the tricks to keeping them out and nothing sticks. The first attack was in a military community in California but it’s been moving closer to a bigger city. If it gets to Santa Barbara or San Francisco or LA, the thing is going to be impossible to find and catch.”  
“And it only goes for pregnant women?”  
“At first I thought it was a vampire with a sick complex but it got into one of the houses I warded and put protections on myself. No vampire should have been able to get through everything I put down.”  
“And the victims’ families?”  
“The first girl had just moved to the country, marrying a soldier. They met in the Philippines, fell in love, and he got to work on setting up a place for her. They found out she was pregnant a few months ago. I had a hell of a time getting to talk to him. Second girl was from here, practically ready to pop, something like 8 months pregnant. Husband in the service. Third one was military herself, maybe...five months along? It doesn’t hop from woman to woman so quickly, I’ve been sitting on this something like 3 months and nothing. I was ready to do a couple decapitations, burn everything, and get moving. Instead I end up with this new monster, no information, and I had to break into the only Men of Letters bunker I knew about.”  
Sam nodded as he flipped a few more pages.  
“Dean.”  
“Don’t say it, Sammy.”  
“I think we need to take the case.”  
“Sam.”  
“Look at these. Something’s going around killing, draining, and mutilating pregnant women. You can’t tell me that’s not a case.”  
Castiel watched the conversation with interest, tilting his head to one side. Michaela took another sip of water and bit her lower lip to avoid smiling. No matter what they thought of her, the Winchester boys were good people. They wouldn’t let something go around killing when they could stop it. Whatever was doing this was going to be put in the ground. It wasn’t a surprise when Dean nodded slowly.  
“Okay. We’ll look into it.”  
“She’s done a good job with the start but I think there are a couple of avenues we can take to dig deeper.”  
“Yeah, okay.”  
Michaela took another sip of water.  
“So unchaining me?”  
“You’re not exactly safe,” Dean said dryly.  
“Please. If I wanted to kill you I could have slit your throat while you were on top of me. Or under me. Or against that--”  
“Okay, Jesus.” Dean glanced at the angel before grabbing the keys from the wall.  
“Just shut up already. Whatever happened to ‘don’t kiss and tell’?”  
“I don’t think that applies to where my mouth was.”  
Despite himself, Dean grinned.


	8. So Only Say My Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team Free Will takes Michaela's case on one condition

 

“One wrong move,” Dean warned as she began gathering up the contents of her messenger bag.

“I know. Bullet to the head, questions later.”

Michaela didn’t bother pointing out that a headshot would knock her down a bit but it wouldn’t kill her...probably. She hadn’t taken one yet. Regardless, in her experience, being underestimated was a gift that you didn’t give up and if the Winchesters had already forgotten that nephil were harder to kill than humans, she wasn’t about to remind them. Instead, she refilled her bag and looked to Dean, raising an eyebrow.

“So where are we setting up?”

“I’m sorry, we?” Dean snapped.

“Yes we. You, Sam, the angel, and me.”

“The angel has a name.”

“If he’s going to call me ‘abomination’ then I don’t see why I can’t call him ‘the angel’ or ‘seraph’.”

“He’s earned the right to say pretty much whatever he likes.”

“Dean! Michaela!” Sam called over their bickering. “Priorities?”

“Do you want to take a look at all my notes?” This she directed at Sam.

“Yeah, that sounds like a good place to start.”

“Great. If you can get me a table, I’ll set out everything. Maybe you can find something in here that I can’t.”

“Sam, we’re not letting her lead this case,” Dean protested.

“She is an abomination,” Cas repeated emphatically. 

“It’s her case,” Sam said. “And none of us are really in a position to judge someone, are we? All of us have died and come back by questionable means, one of us was God briefly, and we’ve let out a hell of a lot of monsters. Even though most of that stuff wasn’t our fault, neither is who her father is. We don’t have a lot of ground to stand on here.”

The angel and Dean Winchester exchanged significant looks but sullenly nodded one after the other.

“I will be keeping a careful watch on you,” Castiel told her and she shrugged.

“Same to you, buddy.”

“I,” Castiel said seriously, “Am not your buddy.”

After the first three hours, Dean got considerably less suspicious as Sam and Michaela batted theories back and forth like they were playing an incredibly strange game of tennis. The second three hours they were pulling and comparing files, occasionally stopping to look something up on the internet. When the eighth hour of research rolled around, Dean stood up.

“This has been great, but I need to eat something.”

Sam barely looked up,

“Can you grab me a salad with some chicken or something?”

“Sam. Take a break from the research. Breathe some fresh air.”

“I think I’ve almost got something.”

“Fine. Whatever. Michaela. You’re coming with us.”

“I don’t think so,” she said absently, making a note on a scrap of paper and shuffling through the papers on the table to search for a reference.

“Listen, I wasn’t giving you an option here.”

“You want me to awkwardly third wheel on your date? No thanks.”

“It’s not--what the hell? What about this seems like a date to you?”

Michaela looked up and studied Dean, then Castiel, taking a moment to make up her mind. While she was still trying to decide how to make her point, Dean waved his hand in the air in the universal sign of dismissal.

“Never mind, I don’t want to know. I’m not leaving you here alone again.”

“Dean,” Sam frowned as he looked up from his computer. “She’ll be with me.”

“Well yeah but in research mode you’re a bit more oblivious and she could snap your neck.”

“Vote of confidence noted,’ Michaela muttered.

“Shut up.”

“Dean,” Sam protested. “We’re working. Bring us back something. You don’t want to be here and we don’t want to leave so there’s your solution.”

“Nephil can be extraordinarily strong,” Cas said. “Despite your reflexes, she could probably kill you easily.”

“I’m not going to kill anyone,” Michaela half-shouted. “I kill monsters, not people.”

“Most of my kind consider you a monster.:

“Lekh tizdayen,” she replied acidly. The angel looked surprised for a moment.

“I do not believe that your suggestion is anatomically possible.”

“Just...get out of here, okay?” Sam snapped. “Go eat, stretch your legs, think up new insults.”

“Whatever,” Dean shrugged. “But if she kills you I’m resurrecting your ass just so I can say ‘I told you so’.”

“I appreciate that, jerk.”

“Bitch.”

The hunter and the angel left, leaving another hunter and a nephil in the bunker poring over papers. The clock on the wall ticked steadily, papers on the table shifting as they picked them up, put them back down. Sam paced. Michaela did not. He asked her to walk him through every detail as he examined police reports and they sat in silence staring at the table full of papers. Sam’s fingers clicked on the keys of his laptop and Michaela’s pen scratched against the white paper on the tabletop. Dusty and still, the air smelled a little stale, like the inside of a house which no one had been into in years. When Cas and Dean returned, Dean carrying two styrofoam clamshell containers and Cas holding a 6 pack of beer and looking vaguely uncomfortable, it seemed as though the two researchers hadn’t moved since they left.

“No luck?”

“None.”

“Eat something.”

“Did you bring me a salad?”

“I made both your sides vegetables, shut up.”

Michaela was mildly surprised that they’d brought food for her and smelled in suspiciously before taking a bite of fried chicken. 

“Damn, that’s good.”

“Best chicken in a hundred mile radius.”

“I bet.”

She took another bite and surveyed the other portions in the clamshell.

“There any gravy?”

Dean actually looked embarrassed.

“Wasn’t sure you’d like gravy.”

“It’s no big deal. Thought I’d ask.”

“You like gravy?”

_ Is this his attempt at making up for chaining me to a chair? _ she wondered, but didn’t voice the thought.

“If they make it right. No lumps.”

“Obviously.”

“You get really tired of road food. My moms made this tuna noodle casserole when I was a kid and it was a casserole so you know, nothing special but there are days when I have another fast food meal and I would kill someone for a bite of that tuna casserole.”

Castiel tensed and Dean nudged him with his elbow, shooting him a look.

“Yeah it’s the things that are normal that you miss the most,” Dean replied.

“Uh huh.” 

She took another bite of chicken and poked her fork around the mashed potatoes, checking for something that neither brother cared to ask about. When she’d combed through them with the plastic fork a bit, she took a bite and closed her eyes.

“I’m having this shit delivered to my next hotel. None of that KFC crap, the real stuff, right here. You can tell they mashed these already; they’re not that powdered box crap. It’s still restaurant food but it’s the closest to home cooking I’ve had in a long time.”

“Do you visit them?” 

Everyone looked at the angel, surprised that he had spoken.

“What?”

“Your mothers. Do you visit them?”

“Sometimes. Holidays mostly. You know how it is, being on cases all the time. And I don’t want to bring that home with me. They could handle it but home is home...you don’t want monsters running into your house while you’re doing laundry or something.”

Castiel nodded and walked away with the six-pack in the direction of the kitchen.

“What was that?” Sam asked after the angel was out of the room.

Dean shrugged.

“He’s a weird dude.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Did you guys find anything?”

“Nothing useful.”

“Nothing?”

“Jack squat.”

“I guess we’ll have to go up there and take a look. Maybe there’s nothing here and we just gotta do it on the fly.”

“I guess.”

“Tomorrow then?”

“Yeah, sounds good. I’ll pack when I’m done eating.”

“I’m already packed,” Michaela said through a mouthful of potatoes.

Dean hesitated and seemed to be considering arguing but he shrugged instead.

“You taking your car?”

“I’m not sitting in the back seat of yours like some kid.”

“All right, princess.”

Michaela considered throwing something at him but figured the angel would overreact and so took another bite of her food instead.

“We’re leaving first thing in the morning and we’re not waiting for you.”

“I’ll try to keep up.”

Only once he was in the kitchen did Dean realize that she’d been smirking and he wondered what he and his brother had gotten themselves into.


End file.
